Dyke Darrel the Railroad Detective Part 40

"But you can talk. The first man who comes along will hear from you that an escaped convict is in the rural districts of New York, and a telegram will set ten thousand officers on the lookout for me. Without such information I would not be recognized in this community. I am a desperate man, d.y.k.e Darrel, and do not propose to sacrifice myself for your benefit."

"What will you do?"

"One of two things."

"Well?"

"You must solemnly swear that you will never reveal to another that I am in this region, and swear also to make no effort to capture me under a month, or else I shall have a painful duty to perform."

"Go on!"

"Will you take the required oath?'

"Certainly not."

"Then the other alternative is alone left me, d.y.k.e Darrel."

"And that?"

"DEATH TO YOU!"

Straightening to his full height after uttering the three terrible words, Martin Skidway s.n.a.t.c.hed a heavy iron bolt from the ground, that had lain long beside the track, and raised it above the head of helpless d.y.k.e Darrel.

"Martin Skidway, hold!"

The words of the detective came forth in a thrilling cry.

An instant the would be a.s.sa.s.sin stayed his hand.

"You agree to my terms?"

"No; but--"

"Then you must die. It will be considered an accident, and no one will suspect my hand in the affair."

Again the young convict poised his weapon for deadly work. On the instant the rumble of wheels met the ears of Martin Skidway.

A wagon containing two men was in sight, moving down a road that ran parallel with the railway at this point. It was evident that the occupants of the vehicle had seen Skidway, and to strike now would but add to the vengeance of pursuit and punishment. With a curse, he dropped the iron bolt and turned to flee.

"d.y.k.e Darrel, if you inform on me, I will kill you at another time!"

hissed the convict.

Then he rushed from the spot and disappeared.

As the wagon came opposite it halted, and the cries of d.y.k.e Darrel brought both men to his side.

"h.e.l.lo! is this you?" cried a cheery voice, and the next instant d.y.k.e Darrel was lifted to his feet by the strong hand of Harry Bernard.

It was a happy and unexpected meeting. Harry had good news to tell, and when d.y.k.e Darrel, a.s.sisted by his friend, reached the farmhouse where Nell had found safety and shelter, the detective was strong enough to stand, and a.s.sist himself in no small degree.

Mutual explanations were entered into, and, as may be supposed, the meeting between brother and sister was a happy one indeed. Harry was the hero of the hour.

When d.y.k.e Darrel spoke of Martin Skidway, and the part he had acted in saving his life, a word of admiration fell from the lips of Nell.

But when d.y.k.e proceeded to the conclusion, the girl's face blanched, and she had no word of commendation left for the miserable convict, who, after all, possessed but little honor.

"So Aunt Scarlet is in the neighborhood; and also your abductor,"

mused the detective. "The trail is becoming hot, indeed."

"It is, for a fact," admitted Harry. "I believe, if the truth was known, this man Ruggles will prove to be the man we want. Have you that handkerchief with you, d.y.k.e, that we found in the coat of the rascal who attempted your murder in St. Louis?"

This was several hours after the events of the morning, and Nell was now resting in a large wooden rocker, very weak, yet feeling remarkably well, considering the siege she had pa.s.sed through during the past two weeks and more. d.y.k.e Darrel and Harry were the only occupants of the room, the farmer being at his work in the field, and his good wife attending preparations for supper in the kitchen.

"I have kept the tell-tale handkerchief through it all," answered the detective, at the same time producing the article from a receptacle beneath, his s.h.i.+rt.

"It's a wonder this was not discovered when you were in the hands of the thugs of Chicago."

"I wasn't closely searched, I suppose. You and the boys were too close after them."

"You give me too much credit, d.y.k.e," returned Harry Bernard, modestly.

"I've a question to ask."

"Ask as many as you like."

"Was it the fact of my hand fitting this b.l.o.o.d.y imprint that so startled you in the St. Louis hotel?"

"Did I not so claim at the time?"

"Perhaps; but wasn't there another coincidence that gave you reason to suspect me?

"There might have been."

"I thought so. It was the imprint of a large wart, such as this on the handkerchief, that made you look with suspicion upon me. Is it not so?"

Harry held up his hand, so that a wart on the little finger was plainly revealed, and which, when he placed his hand against the tell-tale handkerchief, fitted the marks perfectly.

"Forgive me, Harry," cried the detective, quickly. "I know now that it was only a remarkable duplicate; the wart belonged to another hand than yours. The print of the wart was also on the bosom of Arnold Nicholson's white s.h.i.+rt bosom, where a b.l.o.o.d.y hand had fallen. I made this discovery when I examined the body of my dead friend.

Circ.u.mstantial evidence pointed to you, and yet I doubted--"

"I understand," interrupted Harry. "My hand is indeed a duplicate of the a.s.sa.s.sin's. It is a wonder that I have not been arrested ere this by some of the detectives who are engaged in working up this case."

"Why so?"

"Because you are not the only one who made the discovery of the wart that adorned the hand of the a.s.sa.s.sin. A reporter got hold of the story and published it. Don't you remember?"

"I haven't read the papers closely since the murder."

"But I have, and so has the man who killed Nicholson."